Luck of the Irish
by dcdreamin
Summary: For anyone who's ever wondered what Joe and Abby's history was. Here's my version. Rated M for Lemon. One shot.


_**I do not own the Gallagher Girls series, Joe Solomon or Abigail Cameron. Read and Review :)**_

__"I don't need any help, thanks," I said, pulling out my winning smile and Irish accent. "My husband'll be along any min'."

"I wouldn't be doin' my Christian duty if I left a lady sittin' on the side a' the road in the rain," he smiled. "I've got what you've been lookin' for, sweetheart."

"An' what exactly is that?"

"A view of the ocean," he answered. Our code phrase.

"Took you long enough," I snapped, dropping my dialect and rolling my eyes dramatically in his direction. "Now, can we get out of here before the Irish extremists realize their bioweapon is missing?"

"Suit yourself, love," he answered, his eyes on the pavement. "But we'd best not be too hasty."

I fell into step at his side, checking once more to be sure the broach was still attached to my dress. I moved closer so I'd be under his umbrella, then finally took a good look at him out of the corner of my eye.

I couldn't help but notice with the first glance what a nice body he had, and when my eyes reached his face, they weren't disappointed. I could tell that he was watching me as well. And if anything, he walked a little closer.

"How long do we have before they miss us, love?" I asked, searching for our approximate timeframe.

"We'll be findin' em along the road soon enough," he answered. "An' I'm hopin' they won't miss us at all."

"That'd be best for everyone involved," I commented. The sooner this one left me, the better, probably for both of us. I couldn't make any promises about what might happen otherwise.

It was a long walk, longer than it should have been, but when a man stopped us in the road and asked us which way it was to Cork, I pulled out my best Irish accent and asked our question.

"Are ya' lookin' for a cow, sir?"

"Indeed I am, ma'am. If there's any cows can be found in Cork with two legs that is."

I've always wondered who it is at the agency that's responsible for making up the code phrases. They seem to get worse with every mission.

But he'd said it correctly, so I glanced quickly at the man by my side and passed the broach to the one in front of me.

"I'll be gettin' on then," he answered. "I've a long road ahead a' me."

He was just over the hill behind us when the man beside me froze. "That wasn't the courier," he said, quickly, turning around.

"Then why the hell did you let me just hand him the bioweapon?"

"Because I want to know who he is. He knew our code phrase."

"Which means he knows exactly what he's got. Great."

"You put the tracker on it, right, love?"

"Call me that one more time and I'll rip your balls off," I snapped. "And yes."

"Feisty," he said, pulling his phone from his pocket and examining a grid, based on the location of the tracking device. "An' you haven't even got the classic red hair. He's headed toward that cottage over there," he said. "Either you planted that really well or we're dealing with a two-bit crook."

"Give me some credit," I snapped. "Although it took me longer than I expected to get it inside the broach without contaminating myself."

"Impressive work, Agent...?"

"Abigail Cameron," I answered, starting in the direction of the distant stone structure. "Now if you don't mind, we have a bioweapon to recover."

"I agree. We have work to do." Although I couldn't help think there was another kind of work I'd much rather be doing with him. One that didn't involve catching pneumonia.

It was simple, thanks to my excellent placement of the tracker. We sloshed through the field at the same pace as the fake courier, just from a different direction, and found the real courier along the way. Dead, of course.

We reached the cottage just before he did and pressed ourselves against the stone wall so he wouldn't see us.

"You stop him and I'll sneak around the back and come up behind," I instructed, and the man, being somewhat intelligent, didn't argue.

"I wouldn't move any further if I were you," he said, drawing his gun and stepping around the corner. "You've got something of mine, and I'd like it back."

"Do you know what this is?" our crook responded. "I'm sure if you shoot me, I can manage to release it with my last breath."

"Who are you?"

"Why would I tell you anything?"

"Maybe you'd like to live? Although if you spend your life killing couriers and stealing bioweapons, that could be debateable."

"I could say the same thing about you."

I was three steps behind the man when my partner gave his final order.

"Give me the weapon or I'll shoot."

"You'd like to die too, then?"

"I think I"ll take my chances."

I took this as my cue, stepping forward and capturing both of the man's arms. Oh, and putting him in a headlock for good measure. My partner took the broach, putting it in his pocket and pulling out his cell phone again.

"This is Solomon," he said calmly into the phone. "We'll take that helicopter now."

"The courier was a setup?" I asked, remembering how the body looked at least a day old.

He nodded. "That's not a bioweapon, either," he answered. "But we got what we wanted. He's been passing information for over a year now."

I was about to answer when I was cut off by the din of helicopter blades. When our mole was safely restrained aboard the chopper, I turned back to the man at my side.

"Pleasure working with you, Agent…?"

"Joe Solomon," he answered. "And I think we should take advantage of this cottage to get out of the rain." I couldn't have agreed more. Although my mind was already jumping ahead a few steps.

The cottage was dark, abandoned, but it was dry, and at that point that was all I cared about. And darkness was underrated, although this time, I found myself wishing for the light.

"You're absolutely soaked," he commented, somehow managing to start a small fire in the hearth of the cottage. Just enough light that I could appreciate his incredible appearance. "You should probably take those off, so you don't catch something. I'm thinking Irish health care probably isn't fantastic."

"Would you like to help with that?" I asked, cocking one hip.

His eyes met mine, an unmistakeable expression in them. "I think you know I would," he said huskily. He stepped closer, resting the tips of his fingers on my shoulders, restraining himself, but only for an instant. Then he took two steps forward and pushed me up against the wall.

"Did I tell you you're beautiful yet?" he whispered, his face inches from mine.

"No," I answered. "I think you've left that bit out so far."

"You're beautiful, Abigail Cameron." His lips were on mine, moving hungrily, and I played back, running my tongue along his lower lip. When I bit him lightly, I felt him shiver beneath me.

His hands moved up my back, clenching into fists in my hair, and when he pressed me hard against the stone wall, I slipped my leg up around his waist and heard him moan, felt him press hard against me.

He took a step back, his mouth still locked with mine, and I wrapped my legs around him as he fumbled with the buttons on the back of my traditional dress. Then I felt his cool fingers move in circles on my back, slipping lower and lower down.

He pushed me back against the wall and I extricated my hands from his hair, letting him slip the dress down over me until it landed on the floor at our feet. I moved for the buttons on his shirt, but he undid them quickly and dropped it to the floor, and I ran my hands over his hardened muscles.

His fingers found my bra next, and his lips moved down my neck to my chest, brushing lightly over me and taking my nipple between them. He sucked, and I felt myself moan and rock forward against him, impatient.

I slid my fingers down below his waistband, taking him in my hands. He moaned back, dropping his pants and boxers to the floor and reaching for my panties.

"Abby…" he moaned, lifting me away and slipping them off. Then he pressed me up against the wall again, and I moved against him, letting him slide inside of me. He moved hard and fast, and I bucked into him, panting and calling his name as we came, together.

He slid me down the wall, laying us both down on the floor, and slowly pulling out of me.

"You were the best I've ever had," he whispered, his lips on my ears.

I kissed him again, and then I whispered back. "I get that a lot," I teased. "But it's not often that I get to reciprocate the sentiment."

"You're amazing, Abby," he said, pulling me up against him, so the cold of the stone cottage no longer bothered me. "You're so amazing."

When I woke up he was gone, with nothing to help me find him in the future. But that's a spy's life, and it had never bothered me before. So I did my best to push him out of my mind, to keep thoughts of him for the nights when I was alone, never letting them cloud my head during the day. I knew the rules, I'd known them for a long time. Spies don't fall in love. But after that night, I couldn't help but find that there was a tiny piece of myself always hoping they could be broken.


End file.
